Girls Like You
by keeptheotherone
Summary: After sixth year Hermione tells Ron how she feels, but when he doesn't respond as expected, it's confusion and hurt feelings again. Can Ron explain about Lavender and move them past years of misunderstanding to convince Hermione he wants a girl like her?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A huge shout-out to my best friend Angela, who not only encouraged me to write from the first time I tentatively mentioned it, but went above and beyond the call of friendship and became a fantastic beta. Any mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: Borrowed from the genius of J. K. Rowling for fun, not profit. Lots and lots of fun . . . .

* * *

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger couldn't believe her good fortune. The Burrow had gone from over a dozen occupants at breakfast to merely two by early afternoon. Mr. Weasley and the twins were at work, Mrs. Weasley and the wedding party had left for their final fittings at Madame Malkin's, and the Delacours accompanied them for a tour of wizarding London. Even Harry had gone, shooting Ron a meaningful look as he volunteered to carry packages. That left her and Ron home alone. Together.

Or was it home together, alone?

Ron disappeared after lunch, leaving Hermione to clean up as the others Flooed to Diagon Alley. She tucked her wand away and surveyed the kitchen with a critical eye. Satisfied, she walked into the sitting room and eyed the staircase resolutely.

This was her last chance to tell Ron ... before they left for Godric's Hollow, to say that ... oh, she couldn't even think it, how was she going to find the words to say ...

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to do this. She had to tell him how she felt and find out if he felt the same way about her. Harry thought so, and Ginny said she knew so, but she thought she knew, too, and it turned out she'd never been more wrong in her life. She swallowed against the painful memories.

But they'd never talked about it, she didn't know why he suddenly turned against her, and she couldn't stand to be out there worrying about Voldemort and Harry and still wondering where she stood with Ron. She felt her resolve firming again. She was going to know, one way or the oth—

"What are you doing?"

Hermione jumped. Ron stood in front of her on the landing. She flushed, thinking how ridiculous she must have looked, muttering with her eyes closed.

"I was just coming up, actually. I—I want to talk to you."

" 'Bout what?" Ron brushed past her and headed for the kitchen.

He did that a lot these days, brushing his body with hers in a narrow space, touching her hand or arm to get her attention, casually leaning against her when he reached for something. Nothing overt, nothing obvious, just ... different. She heard the rattle of the cutlery drawer.

"You can't possibly be hungry, Ron, we just ate. And wipe up those crumbs, I just cleaned this kitchen!"

Ron did a quick Vanishing Charm on the counter and swallowed what looked like half a slice of cake. "I'm storing up, for later."

Hermione couldn't argue with that. Whatever they did for food, she was certain Mrs. Weasley's puddings wouldn't be on the menu.

"What did you want to talk about?" He stuffed in the rest of the cake.

Hermione looked at the empty platter.

"Honestly, Ron."

He grinned unrepentantly at her and she had to work at hiding her smile. She stepped closer.

"You should have waited until you finished before you Vanished the crumbs, you're getting them all over your shirt and the floor."

* * *

Ron opened his mouth to tell her she was the one who insisted he clear up already when she began dusting off his shirt. With her hands. He gasped in surprise, inhaled what felt like a whole bite's worth of cake, and coughed.

All over Hermione.

Well, all over her hair, really, a little cloud of soggy white flakes and bits of coconut raining down upon brown curls. And he couldn't stop coughing (or raining), seeing as how he had shoved so much cake in his mouth. To his horror, Hermione just stood there.

"Blimey, Hermione," he croaked, eyes watering. He coughed again, but thankfully the shower was over. "I'm bloody sorry, it was a total accident, don't worry, I'll Vanish them all this time—"

"NO!" she shrieked. She grabbed the sides of her head. "Ron, you'll Vanish my hair!"

Ron's laughter escaped before he could contain it. After years of watching her fight the thick, wild curls, the idea of a bald Hermione was simply too much. She stomped on his foot but didn't let go.

"Ouch! Okay, I'll Summon them this time." He grabbed the dishcloth from the sink and pointed his wand at the top of her head. _"Accio _crumbs." They rose from her hair into the waiting dishcloth, which he folded and shook out in the sink. Ron turned back around and felt his heart rate jump when his arm bumped hers and she didn't back away.

Was she standing this close before? Searching for a distraction, he noticed the corners of her mouth were twitching and she'd released her death grip on her hair.

"I really am sorry, Hermione."

"I know." She stepped closer still and smiled up at him, and Ron was suddenly glad he was backed against the sink since his legs no longer wanted to support him. Her gaze was focused on his mouth. "You have frosting on your mouth, by the way, did you know?"

But this was nothing like that first train ride, when she'd told him about the dirt on his nose. That first time, she hadn't been standing so close her chest just brushed his when she inhaled, or smelled this good, like parchment and warmth and _Hermione_. She hadn't been looking at him with soft, tender eyes, or raised her thumb to his face and—

Ron's mouth went dry as Hermione licked the frosting off her finger. Her hands were on his chest again and if he didn't know better, he'd think she wanted—

To be kissed_. _She went on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. Hermione Granger was kissing him, Ron Weasley! He raised his head slightly to see this astonishing event for himself. Her cheeks were the lightest shade of pink and her mouth was curving into a smile. She looked absolutely beautiful, and Ron immediately decided that experiencing Hermione's kiss was much more important than seeing it. He slipped his hand behind her neck and lowered his head.

As much as he wanted to inhale the taste of her, explore the feel of her under his hands, Ron kept the kiss gentle, and sweet. Despite her initiative, he couldn't help the uneasy feeling that, like so many things he had wished for in his life, Hermione was going to slip out of his grasp, be forever just out of reach, and he didn't want to push her, or frighten her, or do anything that would make her pull away. But the pressure of her mouth increased and her hands slid from his chest up over his shoulders, linking behind his neck.

She did kiss him first. And since she was kissing him back_ ... _He drew his tongue across the inside of her lower lip and she opened her mouth.

Immediately the pace of the kiss changed, intensified. Ron wound his fingers in her hair, tilting her head slightly as she responded to his touch. Hermione's new position had caused the hem of her shirt to rise, and he shifted his other hand so the whole of it was splayed against the warm, bare skin of her back. Suddenly, she went limp and dropped her arms.

"What? What's wrong?"

* * *

"I just can't—reach you," Hermione said breathlessly, and was rewarded by what she thought of as _her smile,_ the one that curved his lips into the most delicious shape, and reached all the way to his eyes, and made her stomach and her heart turn over in opposite directions.

She blinked. She was sitting on the worktop next to the empty cake platter, and Ron was leaning in with a hand on either side of her. He looked very pleased with himself.

"Better?"

"Much." She brushed the fringe out of his eyes as the extra height allowed her to rest her forearms on his shoulders instead of barely being able to grasp the back of his neck. She slid both hands into his hair and pulled him to her. Hermione was nothing if not a quick study, and immediately deepened the kiss. His mouth was hot, and dizzying, and talented, and she'd wanted to do this for _ages._

Ron broke the kiss, breathing hard. "So," he kissed her quickly ... twice ... three times ... before sliding her back a few inches. His confident look was gone, replaced with something more like—shyness? "So, you're okay with ... this?" He gestured between them.

Hermione looked straight into his blue, blue eyes and allowed her smile to stretch so widely it hurt. "Why do you think I wanted to talk with you?"

He smiled _her smile_ again, and her insides flipped.

"Brilliant," he whispered against her mouth, and then neither one was talking.

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on her senses: the feel of smooth, silky hair; the smell of fresh-cut grass; the taste of sweet buttercream frosting; the sound of Ron's voice humming in the back of his throat; the touch of large, calloused hands against her skin. She let her head fall back under the pressure of his mouth, wincing when it knocked against the upper cupboard.

"Easy." He cupped the back of her head protectively.

* * *

She was kissing him again, hard. Ron let himself sink into her kiss, sliding a hand up over her ribs, his thumb just brushing the underside of her bra. Hermione twisted her head sharply, gasping.

"Ron, I don't want to wait any longer, I want—" She swallowed hard as his thumb continued to tease. "I want to—let's go upstairs."

Yes! Wait. What?

He'd been dreaming about this for months—okay, years_—_Hermione was wrapped around him so tightly even Flitwick couldn't charm a feather between them, and he still had his hand on her breast, but ... If he'd learned anything from Lavender (well, except for _that_), it was he wanted his next girlfriend to be his friend, too; he wanted their relationship to be more than physical.

_Hermione is our best friend, _his libido assured him.

Yeah, but that was the problem, wasn't it? Ron dropped his hand. If he bungled this new part of their relationship, he was going to lose not only any chance of making her his girlfriend, he was going to lose her friendship. After last winter, Ron knew he couldn't risk having Hermione out of his life for good. He might have the emotional range of a teaspoon, but he was pretty sure going straight from their first kiss to their first time would qualify as "bungled."

So he took a deep breath, straightened her shirt, and tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder. Her breath was hot against his neck and she was trembling slightly, legs still clamped around his waist.

" 'Mione, love, I think we'd better—"

"No." She shifted against him.

Ron groaned involuntarily and she did it again.

"Dammit, Hermione!" He pulled her legs from behind his back and shoved.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hermione floundered for balance as the force of Ron's shove sent her sliding across the worktop and her head knocked the cabinet again. Tears sprang up; Ron was yelling at her.

"No! No, not like this, not with a girl like you, it's all wrong!"

Her head was throbbing, she couldn't think, what was happening? She looked over at Ron, who was now standing on the other side of the kitchen table watching her with the same apprehensive look he usually reserved for Hagrid's pets.

Her brain was slowly coming out of its hormone-soaked stupor and was stuck on one terrible, awful, agonizing conclusion: He didn't fancy her. She asked—idiot!—she asked to go upstairs and it was perfectly clear what she was offering, plastered against him like some love-potioned Lavender. Hermione hid her face as her heart squeezed painfully. It was hard to breathe with this vice around her chest. He said it himself, he didn't want a girl like her.

Hermione choked back a sob and did what she always did when her feelings for Ron overwhelmed her. She picked a fight.

"I thought we were friends," she challenged, surreptitiously wiping her eyes as she pulled her hands away and dropped to the floor.

"What?"

"You know what, kissing me like that, your hands up my shirt. What kind of girl do you think I am?" Hermione ignored the little voice that said she started it—she couldn't bear to think she created this mess—and focused on the familiar routine of arguing with Ron.

"What kind of—what the hell are you on about?"

"Don't—"

Ron's face went straight past red, directly to maroon. "I'll bloody well swear if I want to! And I'll stick my hands up your damn shirt, and anywhere else I please, anytime I'm between your legs with you moaning in my arms!"

Hermione gaped at him. "You weren't—I wasn't—not like—won't be in your arms _ever again!_ Forget it! Forget this ever happened, forget I ever asked!" She lunged for the back door.

* * *

He couldn't let her leave, they would never get past this if he let her leave now. Desperate, Ron blurted out the first thing that popped into his head.

"This is about Lavender, isn't it?"

Hermione whirled around, hair crackling with energy. "I don't want to talk about that . . . that . . . ."

She looked so outraged, Ron actually expected her to swear.

". . . that _witch,_" she spat, pulling a strand of hair away from her mouth.

"Why not? I mean," he added hastily as her eyes narrowed, "I don't want to fight about her anymore."

Hermione sighed and turned away from him again, shoulders slumped. "We're not fighting about her, Ron. We're not fighting about anything."

Ron stared at Hermione's back. This was definitely something. They had avoided talking about her, but they were arguing anyway. Might as well get it over with.

"I didn't sleep with her."

Her hand, which had been reaching for the doorknob, stilled but she didn't turn around.

"Really," Ron said earnestly, turning her by the shoulder. "I mean, we—we did—other stuff, you know that, but we never slept together." He paused, thinking about his own statement. "Not even literally." He and Hermione had slept together loads of times. Never in a bed, of course, but in the cushy common room chairs, under a tree by the lake, even the library once or twice.

"Of course not."

Ron flinched, surprised by how much her disbelief hurt.

"That's why you know the location of so many empty classrooms, and left me alone to do prefect rounds, and gave nightly performances in the Common Room. So you and Lavender could not have sex." She reached for the door again.

Why was she being so stubborn about this? Who would have told her differently?

The realization hit Ron suddenly and he stepped in front of her. _"_Wait a minute, Lavender is your roommate!"

"Oh, that's brilliant, Ron." At least he had distracted her from leaving, even if her face was bright pink and all scrunched up. "After six years, you've finally noticed who I share a dormitory with."

Ron had a sudden and unpleasant premonition of what it might have been like to live with a bragging Viktor Krum in fourth year. He thought about the jokes and off-color comments about him and Lavender from the boys in his year and wondered if girls did the same thing.

"What did she tell you?"

"Nothing," Hermione lied. He knew she was lying because she was staring off to the side, arms crossed. Hermione always faced him squarely when they rowed.

"She must have said something for you not to believe me. Girls talk about that stuff, right? Who they fancy, and who they've kissed, and—and stuff?" Ron felt his ears heating up at his own implication.

Hermione's jaw was tight and she still wouldn't meet his gaze. "Lavender didn't tell me anything. Now get out of my way." She lifted her chin and glared.

Ron just crossed his arms and glared right back.

* * *

Hermione felt her neck beginning to cramp painfully. Oh, this was ridiculous! He was so tall, he really could be quite intimidating when he wanted to be, and Merlin knew he was stubborn enough to keep her standing here all day. She looked away again.

"Lavender didn't tell me anything about you and her. She told Parvati."

"So?"

She glared at him again. "So, you're the one who said we shared a dormitory. What was I supposed to do, sleep with the fifth years? I wasn't giving her the satisfaction. And to answer your question, yes, she talked about 'that stuff'! In excruciating detail." The heat spread from Ron's ears to his face but she plowed on. "Your kisses, your taste, your smell—" her voice hitched, remembering her Amortentia. "Your hair, your hands—"

"Stop. Stop it, Hermione, that's enough!"

Everything looked blurry through her tears, but she could see well enough to tell he was still between her and the door. Ashamed of her provocative behavior, humiliated by Ron's rejection, angry she hadn't left when she had a chance, Hermione threw the first thing her hand landed on—it felt like an old Weasley jumper—and Disapparated.

* * *

a/n: I know, I know, by this time the wards on the Burrow prevent anyone Apparating in or out, but considering the number of times in my life I have wished I could just disappear, and then having a character who was actually capable of doing so, I couldn't resist :)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Ron scrutinized the empty space where Hermione had just been. Not so much as an eyebrow left behind. He tossed the jumper back on the rack and left the kitchen, taking the stairs three at a time, swearing angrily. Tears and a cold shower had not been in his plans for an afternoon alone with Hermione.

Twenty minutes later, while not exactly calm, a less-tense Ron kicked his towel into a corner and stepped into a pair of jeans. He couldn't get Hermione out of his head, and while that had been rather, er, useful in the shower, the image that haunted him now was of her face just before she'd Disapparated. Ron thought about her tears and scowled. Bloody hell, he'd have a thing or two to say to Lavender next time he saw her! No wonder Hermione had looked like hell those months, with him flaunting Lavender in front of her when she was awake, and Lavender rubbing it in when she was trying to sleep.

Ron dropped onto his bed. He couldn't believe he never realized that before. Why didn't she cast a Silencing Charm or something? He remembered what she said about not sleeping with the fifth years, like she was jealous of Lavender and didn't want to admit it_. _It certainly wasn't the first time he'd thought jealousy would explain Hermione's cold shoulder, even when he'd tried to make up after Christmas.

So when she invited him to Slughorn's party she really did mean it as a date, and a couple weeks later he was all shirty and snogging another witch right in front of her. Bugger. He scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. No wonder she didn't believe him. It was just hard to believe a girl like her would want rubbish like him, she practically said it herself after that damn match. Ron punched his pillow and tried to think of something else.

Immediately, his mind filled with memories of her—not a dream, or a fantasy, but an actual_ memory._ Her mouth under his, his hands on her skin, her legs around his back . . . . There's no way she didn't mean that kiss! Ron knew perfectly well what kind of girl she was; Hermione would never have been that open with him if she didn't care as more than friends. He paused as the truth of that sank in. She said she wanted to talk about the two of them, she asked to come upstairs . . . . But the timing was all wrong, they couldn't start a relationship in the middle of a war, not when they needed to be focused on protecting Harry, and he would have explained all that but she—

Ron's eyes glazed over as he remembered exactly what Hermione had done when he tried to back off. He wished he'd done something other than shove her into the cupboards. The image of her face, eyes wide with hurt and confusion, pricked his conscience again.

Bloody hell. So now Hermione thought he slept with Lavender but refused her, and he had to find a way to convince her he did want her but they couldn't be together yet, and the delay had nothing to do with how he felt about her. Ron didn't need a crystal ball to picture Hermione's reaction to that. He swore again.

* * *

Hermione's foot struck something hard and she fell to the ground. She curled up and sobbed harder. _How could I be so stupid?_ _I can't believe I told Ron all that, about what Lavender __said, and wanting to sleep with Ginny, and— _Her breath came in shudders and she raised the hem of her shirt to wipe her streaming nose. She thought she'd cried all the tears she was capable of last winter, but they just kept coming.

_I made a complete fool of myself, coming on to him like that! I should have known Ron doesn't want to sleep with me, he doesn't think of me that way, he never has, he hardly even knows I'm a girl!_

_**He seemed to know you were a girl when he had his tongue in your mouth and his hands up your shirt,**_ said a sly voice.

_Fine, so he knows I'm a girl and he still doesn't want me! He said_—the pressure in her chest swelled, and she felt her eyes pricking with tears again—_he said "not with a girl like me" and I know what he means—_the tears spilled over—_he means not with a girl who's plain, and bookish, and nags all the time, and whose hair always looks like a niffler's gone through it! _

Hermione waited, but the voice was silent. She dried her tears against her shoulder. Not even her imagination could argue with the facts, and the fact was she had revealed her feelings and Ron had rejected her. Sure, he had kissed her, but he was probably just taking advantage of the opportunity, like he'd done with _her._

The pressure in her chest seemed to be trying to climb out through her throat and Hermione sat up. Sharp pain shot through her right ankle and she realized she'd unwisely Disapparated in an emotional rush. She checked for all ten fingers and toes, then ran her hands over her face and ears. Evidently her determination to leave the kitchen made up for not having a deliberate destination in mind. She moved the sharp branch away from her foot and recognized the woods beyond the pond. Maybe by the time she walked back to the Burrow it wouldn't be so obvious she'd been crying.

* * *

"Merlin, what happened to you?" Ginny asked, closing her door behind Hermione.

Then again, maybe not. "I went for a walk. How was the fitting?"

"You know Fleur. What I meant was, why have you been crying? You look terrible."

Hermione rummaged in her trunk for a clean shirt. "It's nothing."

"Yeah, if you spell 'nothing' R-O-N."

Hermione stiffened. "I don't want to talk about it." She gave her friend a pointed look and turned to change. Ginny had repeatedly refused to talk about what happened with Harry at Dumbledore's funeral, despite Hermione's much more sensitive attempts.

"All right. But at least let me clean you up a bit." Ginny reached down for Hermione's hair brush.

Hermione dropped the snot-stained shirt into the hamper and sat down at the dressing table. The girls were silent for several minutes as Ginny worked.

"You have beautiful hair, you know," she said, and Hermione made a rude noise.

"Really. It's so thick and soft."

"You're the one with beautiful hair." Hermione couldn't quite keep the edge out of her voice. "It's such a gorgeous color, and it's long and shiny, and it does what you want." Just like Lavender's, and Phlegm's, and Padma's . . . .

"That's called magic, Hermione. A smart witch like you could learn the cosmetic charms in no time."

Hermione didn't respond. They'd had this conversation before. But there was something they hadn't talked about, something, in light of what happened this afternoon, she really wanted to know. She hesitated, then decided to ask. Ginny might get angry, but Hermione could hold her own with a wand.

"Did you and Harry ever sleep together?"

* * *

The brush stilled in Ginny's hand. Was it possible? They were all alone in the house for hours, could Ron and Hermione have—no. She resumed the soothing motion. No, there's no way Ron went from coward to Casanova in the course of one afternoon. Then again, maybe that's why Hermione was crying . . . .

"No, we didn't. Why?"

Hermione shrugged. "Why not, do you think? I mean, you're one of the most beautiful girls at Hogwarts, and you don't even need eyes to see that Harry's crazy about you."

He sure wasn't acting like it. Ginny opened a pack of hair bands. "Maybe I didn't want to sleep with him."

If anyone could put sarcasm into a look, it was Hermione.

"Okay, so that wasn't the problem." She gathered Hermione's hair into a ponytail. "It just wasn't the right time for us. Harry has important things to do, and if we'd let things go that far it just would have made it all even more complicated than it already is." She twisted the band in place and tossed the brush back in Hermione's open trunk. "Not to mention Mum would've killed me, and maybe even Harry.

"Here, turn around." She pointed her wand directly between Hermione's eyes. "_Ocular anedema._" She was startled when Hermione raised her foot, then saw the cut on her ankle and cast a healing charm.

"Anything else?"

Hermione was certainly capable of healing herself; she must really be in a strop if she didn't want to use a wand. Not to mention Hermione was the one old enough to do magic, not her.

"Do you think he wanted to?" Hermione stood abruptly. "I'm sorry, I know this is difficult for you, but I don't have anyone else to talk to and it's not the kind of thing you can learn from a book!" She slammed her trunk lid shut.

No, she wouldn't think so. She really didn't want to talk about Harry, but Hermione couldn't even owl her mum without putting her in danger_. _At this, Ginny made up her mind. She would do her best to help her friend regardless of her own heartache.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dinner that night was an awkward affair. A sudden summer shower had forced them all inside, wedged in at the table on long benches to accommodate the extra guests. Mrs. Weasley was trying to shame Bill into a haircut before the wedding while Fleur muttered (none too subtly, Hermione thought) about intrusive in-laws. The Delacours and Mr. Weasley were discussing security measures for the wedding while Charlie, Ron, Fred, and George were still arguing over their interrupted Quidditch match_. _Ginny was glaring rather a lot at Gabrielle, who was staring at Harry so intently that she didn't notice, and Harry spent the entire meal looking anywhere except directly across the table at Ginny (how did they end up seated like that?). Despite the crick in her back from leaning in Harry's direction, Hermione was uncomfortably aware of the length of Ron's thigh pressed firmly against hers. She heard Harry actually sigh with relief when Mrs. Weasley apologized for not having any pudding.

"It's no problem, Mrs. Weasley, I couldn't eat another bite. I think I'll just go walk some of this off." Harry gave her a faint smile and placed his hands flat on the table, but didn't move. With so many people on the bench seat, he couldn't get up.

"Hermione, lean in towards Ron and give me some room, will you?"

Hermione glared at him—he could have asked Bill to budge up—but had no choice since everyone's attention was on her. She tried to ignore the way Ron slipped his arm around her waist and steadied her against him, but his hand on her belly reminded her of the last time he touched her, when they were kissing and he—

She nearly bounced away from the table now that Harry's seat was empty.

"I'll come with you. I feel like a walk, too." Pretending not to see the look he shared with Ron, she followed him out of the house.

* * *

Harry felt Hermione's eyes on him but kept walking. He knew something had happened this afternoon, but from the way she'd been crowding him and not Ron at dinner, it couldn't have been good.

"Harry, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. All right?"

Knowing she would pester him until he did as she asked, he turned and waited.

"All right? Don't be nice and try to spare my feelings."

This didn't sound good, either, but he nodded anyway.

"Does Ron think of me as a girl?"

Harry was silent for several seconds. "That's the question? After all this time, you're still stuck on that?"

Hermione flushed slightly. "I mean, does he think of me as someone . . . fanciable, or like a sister or something?"

He resumed walking. "Hermione, I'm quite certain Ron knows you're female and you're not family."

"Well then, why won't he touch me?"

Harry froze, hoping he'd heard wrong, but Hermione kept talking and walking.

"It was perfect, we were alone, no one else was even _home_—you know that never happens at the Burrow, Harry!—and Ron—"

"Hermione! You can't seriously be asking me . . . ."

They continued in uncomfortable silence until they reached the edge of the wards.

"I talked to Ginny today."

Harry ignored the swoosh in his stomach at her name.

"She said that sometimes boys aren't—they don't— Ron kissed me but he wouldn't do anything else even when I asked and Ginny said boys aren't as casual with girls they really like but I thi—"

"Hermione!" Harry was wondering, and not for the first time, why he'd ever become best friends with a girl. But Hermione looked like she could cry at any moment, so he resigned himself to finishing this dreadful conversation.

"What are you trying to ask me?"

She bent down and picked one of the wildflowers growing at their feet. For someone who wouldn't shut up a minute ago, she now seemed reluctant to answer and began pulling the petals off one by one.

"Everyone says Ron fancies me, but I don't understand why he won't do anything about it."

He couldn't help her there, he didn't understand that, either.

"Ron said—well, I think he was trying to say that he and Lavender didn't mean anything, but . . . . I want to believe him, but when he was all over her all the time, and then he and I have this golden opportunity, this perfect chance, and I grab it with both hands and think _finally_—we're finally getting somewhere, that maybe there really will be an 'us,' he just pushes me away." She swallowed hard and began plucking petals again. "The only logical conclusion is Ron doesn't like me that way. If he can make out in front of all of Gryffindor with a girl he doesn't really fancy but he won't touch me even when we're alone, then I must truly repulse him."

Harry found this statement so completely _illogical_ that once again he was left gaping in silence, and it took him a moment to find his voice.

"Hermione, you're being ridiculous."

She huffed.

"No, I mean it. I've seen how Ron looks at you, how he reacts when you accidentally bump him, or sit down close to him, or laugh at something he says."

She looked skeptical. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"Ron kissed you this afternoon, right?" He waited for her nod. "Think back to that moment, and then look me in the eye and tell me he was not attracted to you."

Hermione turned bright red and seemed to find her sandals very interesting.

_Ron, you so owe me . . . . _"Look, not all girls are the same. Some girls are just friends, some are just for snogging, and—"

"What is that supposed to mean, 'some are just for snogging'?" she asked indignantly.

Wasn't it obvious?

"You don't need to be friends with a girl to snog her, Hermione. You just have to—"

From her determined expression, she wasn't taking the hint. Harry took a fortifying breath. "Even though they had never been friends, none of the wizards in Gryffindor Tower" (or the rest of Hogwarts, for that matter) _"_wondered what Ron saw in Lavender Brown. But that doesn't mean he really cared about her." _Not like he cares about you._

Hermione was silent; she had turned and was facing back towards the Burrow. Harry was beginning to feel a little sorry for the flower as there were no petals left and now she was stripping it of leaves.

"Some girls are just friends," he said gently, "and some girls are just for snogging, but sometimes you look at this girl that you've been friends with for a while, and you realize you want . . . more. More than friendship, and definitely more than just a snogging partner. Girls like that, girls like _you,_ you don't go around feeling them up at every opportunity. Not because you don't like touching her, it's because she's different. She matters. And she deserves to be treated that way."

* * *

Hermione wound the flower stem around her finger and knew she'd just heard Harry's answer to the question she'd asked Ginny that afternoon_. _She thought_—_she rewound the stem, unable to keep her hands any quieter than her mind—when Ron was kissing her, she thought he meant it. Maybe when he pushed her away, he really was trying to slow things down, to say "not now" instead of "not you."

Hermione turned around and forced a smile. Harry had to be desperate to end this conversation. "So you're saying even though he was all over her like the Giant Squid and treated me like I had a case of Spattergroit, he actually likes me better?"

"Exactly."

Hermione threw the flower—or what was left of it—at him and he smiled at her. "One more thing. You're right, Ginny does matter. I don't care what happened between you two at Dumbledore's funeral, she doesn't deserve to be ignored by you."

Harry jerked away from her. "Ginny is off-limits! I've told you before, Hermione, it's not safe for her to be with me."

Hermione thought it wasn't safe for her to be a Weasley, either, but since Harry had just been very gracious to her, she held her tongue. "I'm sorry. I didn't say it to make you angry, Harry, I just want you to be happy."

"Well, not until this is over. Right now what makes me happy is if Voldemort were dead."

Hermione ignored his spurt of temper and leaned into his side. "Me, too."

And Harry remembered why he'd become best friends with this girl.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Ron Weasley, you owe me so big, even killing Voldemort wouldn't pay it off." Harry burst into Ron's room and slammed the door.

Ron dropped _Quidditch Illustrated_ and sat up. "What did she say? Is she mad at me?"

"I'm bloody well mad at you! What the hell happened?"

Ron ran his fingers through his hair. "I screwed up."

"I got that. But you kissed her?"

"Yeah. Well, she kissed me first."

"So what went wrong?"

Ron shrugged.

"No way. I didn't spend the afternoon with an excess of Phlegm just to end up explaining about snogging and why you won't touch her. At least tell me why she thinks you find her repulsive."

"What!" Ron jerked so hard he nearly fell off his bed.

"She wouldn't shut up about you being all over Lavender but not touching her and decided the only logical conclusion was 'I must truly repulse him.' "

"What do you mean, I wouldn't touch her? I touched her plenty!"

Harry snickered and Ron's ears burned.

"She really said that?"

Harry picked up the magazine and tipped the desk chair back. "More than once."

Ron replayed his actions in the kitchen. She couldn't mean he didn't touch her. She must be talking about—

He glanced at Harry, who was examining an ad for the Nimbus Four Thousand.

"You told her that was mental, right?"

Harry didn't even look up. "I told her how you wouldn't let the house elves wash your sheets for weeks after she was in our dormitory the last time, and how we always met her in the Entrance Hall before lunch because you like to watch her tits bounce when she runs downstairs, and about that time in Potions—" Harry dodged the pillow Ron threw and fell over laughing.

"Wanker."

"I told her that was ridiculous. Then I practically dared her to remember the kiss and tell me you weren't attracted to her."

Harry was right—he did owe him. "And?"

"She turned bright red and wouldn't look at me."

Ron grinned. It had been a hell of a kiss.

"Don't look so smug," Harry warned. "I tried to explain how Lavender's nowhere near Hermione's class, but she needs to hear it from you, prat. She nearly cried on me."

"I tried. She wouldn't believe me."

"Why not?"

Ron studied the 1995 Cannons lineup on the opposite wall. "Lavender told Parvati about our, er, activities, but she made sure Hermione was around to overhear. And apparently she exaggerated things, because Hermione thinks we slept together."

"She lied about you and her _shagging?_ In front of Hermione?"

"Yeah. When I mentioned Lavender I was sure she was going to swear, but she just said she didn't want to talk about 'that witch.' Frankly, I expected something better from Hermione; I mean, we've all known Lavender was a witch since she was the first to be sorted into Gryffindor."

Harry was laughing again. "You really should've taken Muggle Studies."

"What are you on about?"

Harry was still chuckling. "Muggles don't believe in magic, remember? So when a Muggle woman—or a Muggle-_born_ woman—calls another woman a 'witch,' what she really means is she thinks she's—"

The word clicked in Ron's mind. "I knew she was going to swear! Like they teach that in Muggle Studies, anyway."

"Well, you'd better think of something fast, 'cause if Hermione thinks you shagged Lavender but you find her repulsive, you're screwed. Or not, actually." He smirked.

Ron made a rude gesture that Harry ignored. "Where is she now?"

"Charlie asked her to play chess."

Ron stepped clean over Harry's camp bed and opened the door. "Harry?" He waited for his friend to look up. "Thanks, mate. You know, for talking to her."

"Well, I'm not going through that again, so get it right this time."

"Right, then."

* * *

Charlie Weasley smiled at the girl beside him and wondered how long it would take Ron to come looking for her. He had decided he could have some fun messing with his youngest brother and had chosen Hermione as his means of doing so. She had claimed she wasn't any good at chess but settled beside him on the sofa when she saw Ginny there with Crookshanks. The two girls had carried on what seemed to be an entire conversation with nothing more than some raised eyebrows, a nod, and two smiles.

Women.

Ever polite, Hermione asked how Charlie's work was going, and after describing Norberta's latest hatchling, he returned the favor by asking about her exams. Hermione was so intent on describing her revising schedule she didn't notice as he casually shifted position and draped his left arm over her shoulders. He shifted again, putting his back to the arm of the sofa, and Hermione subconsciously mirrored him so that Ginny was behind her.

"I suppose Harry and Ron were begging you to write up a schedule for them, too?"

"Oh, no, I've made that mistake before."

That was perfect, her smiling up at him as Ron entered the room. He scowled at seeing them nestled cozily together. Charlie met his gaze, lazily stroking Hermione's bare upper arm. She paused, so he shifted his attention from Ron to give her a reassuring smile.

"I thought you two were playing chess."

Hermione sprung out of his arms so quickly Charlie lost his balance, his outstretched hand landing on a hissing Crookshanks. He heard Ginny's spurt of laughter and shot her a dirty look.

"Ron, I—Charlie was just telling me about the newest baby dragon."

Ron was staring past her, down at him—way down at him, actually—and Charlie suddenly had second thoughts. His not-so-little-anymore brother was giving him a hard glare he wouldn't want to meet alone, and definitely not without his wand.

"He sounds adorable."

This was so incongruous with what was passing between the two men that they both turned to her. Hermione looked guilty as hell. Her face was flushed and she was darting nervous glances between the two of them as if uncertain where to look.

"The baby dragon. He sounds adorable, don't you think?"

Was that a touch of desperation in her voice?

"We'll talk about him outside."

* * *

"Ron! Unhand me this instant!" Hermione pulled her arm vigorously but unsuccessfully as Ron opened the front door and pushed her through. Irritated that she hadn't recognized Charlie's ploy, she tried to prise Ron's fingers off as he half-carried her behind the shed.

"What was that about?"

"He set you up," she gasped, bending over to catch her breath.

"What?"

"Charlie. He must have known you'd come looking for me and he set you up. I didn't realize he was flirting until he touched my arm, and I didn't see you at all." She hesitated; they hadn't spoken since she'd Disapparated. "I didn't want you to think I was flirting back."

Ron crossed his arms. "You were almost in his lap, and you were smiling at him."

Hermione made a note to put something nasty in Charlie's porridge tomorrow. "He asked about exams, Ron. When I asked him about work, he told me about Norberta's baby, and then he asked about exams. Do I ever pay attention to anything else when I'm talking about exams?"

"We didn't have exams this year, Hermione."

"Well, I didn't know that when I was revising, did I? Why did you drag me out here, anyway?"

He shifted. "I wanted to talk to you. About earlier. In the kitchen."

She ducked her head to hide the sudden tears. "I told you to forget it, and I meant it. It won't happen again."

"No!" he said quickly, startling her into looking up. "I mean, I think you got the wrong idea, and I want to explain—"

"You were very clear, Ron. I have a knot on my head to prove it."

"That's what I mean, that's not what I meant."

Apparently he realized that was nonsense, because he started over.

"Harry said you thought I found you repulsive and that's not what I meant at all."

"You were yelling and you pushed me. What was I supposed to think?"

"That's just it, I couldn't think when—with you—like that. And you were asking me to make a really big decision—"

"So you just decided no?"

"Merlin, Hermione, do you have to complicate everything? It wasn't like—"

"Complicate? _I'm_ complicating things? I didn't agree to be my date and then snog someone else!"

"Well, you snogged Krum!"

"Viktor? Says who?"

Ron looked startled. "Says Ginny. I reckon your best girl friend ought to know."

Hermione surveyed him shrewdly. "What did you say or do to her just before she made this announcement?"

"I—well—Harry and I walked in on her and Dean. I might have said some not-so-nice things."

She groaned. "You and Harry? Ron, did it never occur to you she was just incredibly embarrassed and trying to get back at you? Like a bratty little sister who knows your weaknesses?"

Ron's mouth opened and closed wordlessly.

Unbelievable. All this heartache, months wasted between them, because Ginny smarted off and Ron believed her.

"Are you saying you never snogged Krum?"

"As I've said for years,_" _Hermione said through gritted teeth, "Viktor and I are _just friends. _He fancied me, and I was flattered, but I didn't feel the same way. I told him so shortly after the Second Task."

"You dated an eighteen-year-old wizard and he never kissed you?"

Hermione rubbed her pounding temples. When she got her wand on Ginny Weasley_ ..._

"Not that it's any of your business, considering you're not my boyfriend," she glared significantly, "but Viktor kissed me once. It was New Year's, there was mistletoe ... it hardly counts. I assure you, your first kiss with Lavender was much more of a snog than anything I'd experienced."

"Why not? Krum's rich, famous, a profess—"

"He's not you! Okay? I didn't want Viktor to ask me to the ball, I wanted to go with _you! _But you only wanted someone beautiful, no matter how horrible she was, and I was so ugly you didn't even realize I was a girl!

"So I accepted his invitation. He was kind and thoughtful, and it was a chance for me to stick it not only to you but to all those Slytherin cows. Viktor said he was proud to escort me, even Ce-Cedric," mother of Circe, how many times was she going to cry today? "Cedric said I was a vi-vision, and Harry liked my hair," she swiped her cheeks roughly, "but you thought there was nothing attractive about me except my friendship with Harry. So I rubbed your nose in it every chance I got, because I hoped—crazy, foolish girl!—you would imitate your hero and look more closely at me. I hoped if I made you jealous you might do something_, _but it completely backfired and I've been paying for it ever since! I do NOT fancy Viktor Krum, I have NEVER fancied Viktor Krum, _I'm in love with you!"_

* * *

a/n: Yes, I am evil enough to end there, but we'll wrap up next week :) Hermione's line about Ginny being a bratty little sister comes from my first impression of that scene when I read HBP. Thanks for reading; please review and let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

They stared at each other, both shocked speechless. Before he could think too much, Ron replied, "Me too."

Hermione smiled weakly. "You've never fancied Viktor, either?"

He grinned at her, and her smile widened.

"I lo-love you too. I wanted to tell you, in the kitchen, but . . . you were bloody fantastic."

She blushed, tucking her hair behind her ear. It sprang back.

"It's not true, what you said about fourth year—I've never thought you were ugly. I wanted to ask you to the ball, but I was afraid you'd say you wanted to go with Harry. I knew perfectly well why Krum fancied you, but he already had everything else I'd ever wanted, the wealth and the fame and the talent, and then he had to go and take you, too. I was angry with myself for not asking you first, and angry with him for choosing you, and angry with you for saying yes.

"I didn't want anyone to know I fancied my best friend, so I made up that stuff about asking the best-looking witch and Krum hanging around you to win the Championship. I used to picture you two, secretly snogging in the library, and when Ginny said that—she just wouldn't shut it, and Harry was standing right there. It brought all those awful feelings back, and I reckoned you'd just asked me to Slughorn's party because you felt sorry for me. Then we rowed after the Slytherin match, and Lavender—well, she seemed like the perfect opportunity."

Ron swallowed. Hermione was studying him, brown eyes wide.

"At first I wanted to hurt you like I'd been hurt, but I didn't think it through, and I was really sorry really fast, but I couldn't get you to talk to me. I missed you—I really missed you, I wrote you a dozen letters over Christmas, but I was too much of a coward to send even one."

"I'm sorry, too," Hermione whispered. "I knew you were trying to make up with me, but I was too proud to give in, and then on your birthday—"

Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and he awkwardly brushed them away.

"I realized I had been a complete fool. I know the reality of this war better than most and I was still wasting time with childish spats instead of focusing on love and friendship."

She was standing in the circle of his embrace now, and looked up at him seriously. "I don't want to waste any more time, Ron, that's why—"

She blushed again, and he knew exactly what she meant.

"You didn't listen to me this afternoon, when you asked to—go upstairs." Ron felt her stiffen and held fast as she tried to pull away. "It's not that I didn't want to—Merlin, Hermione, you have to know how badly I wanted you—how much I still want you—it's just . . . not now. Not like that, in a bed that's barely big enough for me, with all Harry's crap around, and the Cannons staring down at us, and—"

He felt her shaking and crossed his arms. "What's so bloody funny?"

"The Cannons?" she asked, laughing. "You expect me to believe in the heat of the moment, you worried about what your Quidditch posters would think?"

"Hermione, I've spent the better part of three years picturing you naked in my bed. It was hardly a split-second decision."

* * *

He had? Pictured her? _Naked? _In his _bed? _More than once, as if he liked the image? Gobsmacked, Hermione stared as Ron sank down against the shed. But three years . . . that would be . . . but she thought . . . _before_ the Yule Ball?

She sat down beside him. "So if it wasn't Neville, how did you find out I was a girl?"

Ron was quiet for a long time.

"I'd noticed before, but the time I couldn't ignore was at the World Cup. Harry and I were coming back from visiting Seamus and Dean after the match and you were changing clothes. It had gotten dark, and you had the lamps lit, and the tent . . . ."

He trailed off, but Hermione understood. In the dark, backlit by the lamplight, her form would have cast a shadow on the canvas wall of the tent as clearly as a movie on-screen. Ron had watched her undress, and Hermione was surprised to realize she wasn't upset, or angry, or embarrassed. What exactly was this fluttery feeling?

"Pleasedontbemad," he pleaded.

"I'm not mad. I would've been then, I'm sure, and maybe I should be still, but," she shrugged, hoping he would continue.

"You were beautiful. Ginny was already changed, thankfully, but you had just taken your shirt off. You were standing next to the bunks, in profile, and I could see—well," he swallowed, "a lot more of you than I ever did in school robes. You reached up and undid your hair. I'd never seen you do that before. I mean, I'd seen you with it down, but I couldn't remember seeing you take it down, and the way you moved—it was the most graceful, feminine thing I'd ever seen." He paused, remembering. "Until you unbuttoned your jeans and slid them off with this—" he wiggled his hands in the air "—this shimmying motion, and I still think that was the sexiest thing I've ever seen." He shot her a nervous, sideways look.

Ron thought she was feminine? And sexy? That fluttery feeling just behind her navel—it was pleasure; pure, unadulterated delight. She turned to get a better look at his face, but he was turned away from her. She reached for his hand, feeling guilty for laughing.

"We could have taken them down. And I could charm your bed big enough for both of us."

Ron groaned under his breath. "We could've." He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "But you deserve everything, roses and candlelight and wine. And there would still be Voldemort, and the Horcruxes. We said we would help Harry, and if we have the slightest chance of succeeding, it will be because we work together, all three of us. We can't afford to be distracted, not even by each other.

"Besides," his thumb still stroked back and forth, "there's no way I could be with you like that, and then . . . not. We don't know where we're going to be, or what we're going to be doing, but I'm pretty sure we'll be living on top of each other. You deserve better than that."

Hermione thought she finally understood. "A girl like me?"

Ron bumped her shoulder. "Know-it-all."

"Your know-it-all."

He smiled and nuzzled her hair. "I like the sound of that."

"Ron?"

"Hmm?"

"What if something goes wrong?"

She had been worrying about this for months, ever since Harry had told them about the Horcruxes. It was why she had determined to tell Ron how she felt, why she had been so bold in the kitchen. She wanted no regrets.

"What if we don't get another chance, if—if this is all there is?"

Ron sat up and faced her. "This is not all there is for us, Hermione," he said fiercely. "Isn't that why we're fighting? Sure, we're doing it for Harry, but aren't we really in this because we want a better world, because we want our lives to be free from worries about evil and blood status and war? You," he pushed her hair away from her face, "you're in so much danger just because of who your parents are, because of something you can't control or change. Nobody should have to live like that. Harry's going to see to it, and we're going to help him. Nothing's going to go wrong—at least, not that badly wrong. We're going to stick together and destroy that bloody bastard for good this time, because when it's all over—when it's all over, I get a chance with you. I'm going to make sure we get that chance, Hermione."

Hermione held his gaze and hoped hers reflected everything she read in Ron's: all the love, all the promise, all the certainty.

"So . . . after the war?"

"After the war," he promised, and slipped his free hand behind her neck. "And just one more time . . . ."

Hermione closed her eyes and decided it wasn't bad at all, being a girl like her.

* * *

a/n: That's all, folks! Thanks so much to everyone who has followed this story, favorited, and especially those who have reviewed; it's been so encouraging to have one of my first stories so well-received! I have a Harry/Ginny companion piece that I plan to post this weekend, and many other ideas in the works. I hope you will continue to read and enjoy!

keeptheotherone


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